


Paradise That's Trouble Proof

by lastSaskatchewanPirate



Series: Metaphorical Coffee [10]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-01-05 04:24:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12182841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastSaskatchewanPirate/pseuds/lastSaskatchewanPirate
Summary: The party posse turns out to help Chromedome and Rewind repair their house after a storm.  Shenanigans ensue.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set toward the early part of Megs' and Roddy's relationship, after they've gotten together but before they've gotten physical.
> 
> ... yes, that's an extremely short time window.

He was staring again.

To be fair, he wasn’t the only one; and luckily Megatron had not yet noticed. Ordinarily he was more perceptive; but to be fair he was kind of preoccupied at the moment, what with the whole ‘sweaty manly man with big hammer’ aesthetic he had going on.

The whole situation certainly could have been far worse. The weather service picked up on the storm in time to issue enough advance warning for people to successfully seek shelter; and the storm’s actual path took it mostly over forest and farmland rather than residential areas or the city center. Nevertheless, Chromedome and Rewind had emerged from their basement to find their yard in shambles, their privacy fence wrapped around their neighbor’s shed in an embrace closer than that of some married couples, and a thirty-foot maple tree draped indecorously across their roof.

Rodimus declared that the party posse would be on the case, and followed through as soon as the local roads were actually clear enough to traverse. 

Absolutely no one was surprised that he showed up with Megatron. (In fact, the only surprise expressed at all was that Megatron had been able to wedge himself into Roddy’s tiny Prius without dislocating something, and two of the people expressing that surprise were Rodimus and Megatron.)

Chromedome had prepared for the onslaught of the party posse with several rolls of tar paper, four bundles of asphalt shingles, and an assortment of hammers and nails and implements of destruction.

Rewind, having a slightly less optimistic view of the proceedings (or at least of the proclivities of the participants), had prepared for the onslaught with three cases of beer, five boxes of chocolate pudding pops, and an assortment of chips and accompanying dip. Upon being informed of the presence of the pudding pops, Rodimus hailed Rewind as a genius, prince, and statesman, and magnanimously declared that Rewind would be the one to name Roddy’s firstborn. Rewind immediately gave him a pudding pop, largely as a matter of self-defense and in order to shut him up.

A quick poll of the party posse participants revealed that the only two on the property who had any semblance of experience with construction were Chromedome and Megatron. This came as a surprise to only one person, and it wasn’t Chromedome.

Megatron perused the exquisitely organized and impressively well-stocked garage, and then turned to Rewind with a questioning eyebrow.

Rewind shrugged. “Domey’s the one who fixes stuff – brains, computers, furniture. I take photos and make sure we eat at least three meals a week that don’t come straight from the frozen pizza aisle of the grocery store.”

“There’s nothing wrong with DiGiorno’s,” said Chromedome haughtily – or at least as haughtily as was possible for a man who was lubricating a chainsaw.

Rewind took remarkable exception to that statement, and Megatron took advantage of the resulting chaos to sidle out of the garage with the chainsaw in hand.

Rodimus took one look at the chainsaw and lit up like a Christmas tree in March with faulty wiring in the lights.

“No,” said Megatron firmly.

“Yes,” breathed Rodimus, eyes fixed on the chainsaw.

“ _No_ ,” said Megatron, a little more firmly.

“Awww,” whined Rodimus, and tried the Big Sad Eyes. Tragically, Megatron proved to be completely immune to the Big Sad Eyes, at least when chainsaws were part of the equation, and left Rodimus to sulk while Megatron supervised Drift in rigging the roof-interloping maple tree with ropes to keep it from going places it shouldn’t. 

Rodimus stood back and watched approvingly while Drift did complicated-looking things with rope and tow straps and a come-along that would theoretically ensure that the tree would continue leaning on the roof in a predictable manner until certain strategically-located cuts had been made, at which point the tree would fall off of the roof in a similarly predictable manner that would not result in damage to either the house or any of the party posse. Rodimus approved in general of the intended lack of damage, and approved in specific of some other things he could imagine doing with the rope; and decided he should probably go do something useful instead of getting worked up by the sight of Megatron with a chainsaw and the makings of a heavy-duty industrial bondage scene. Possibly with suspension involved.

Yeah. Not getting hot and bothered right now, thank you.

In the back yard, Rodimus found Chromedome and Rewind – post frozen pizza squabble and make-up make-out – coordinating the less coordinated members of the party posse to take care of miscellaneous cleanup, including if possible the extrication of the remains of the privacy fence from the neighbor’s shed.

Rodimus was slightly offended by his assignment.

“Dude, what. I have skills. Like, mad skills, yo. You seriously just want me to pick up sticks?”

“For now, yes.” Rewind serenely handed him a pair of gloves. “Once the tree is off the roof, we can start repairs up there, but Drift and Domey said they don’t want anyone else over there right now in case something goes wrong.”

Rodimus’s response was lost under the growl of a 42cc Poulan starting up, following by the unmistakable sound of a chainsaw biting into hardwood. He shrugged apologetically at Rewind, who just grinned and handed him a pair of safety goggles, and then jogged back around the side of the house in time to see Drift finish the first cut to the tree trunk and begin the second, which would bring it down off the roof.

Drift had clearly earned his Eagle Scout badges, because the entire tree was safely off the roof with the choreographed precision of a Blue Angels demo in less than ten minutes, and Drift was happily bucking the trunk into firewood as soon as the ropes were off. Rodimus was admittedly sore that he didn’t get to use the chainsaw, but he had to acknowledge that Drift was clearly in his element and having a blast, and it would be sort of mean to interfere.

On the other hand, the tree-chopping show being over meant that Rodimus was back on stick-pickup duty with Rewind, Tailgate, and Swerve. On the other other hand, he didn’t actually think that joining Cyclonus and Whirl in the disentangling of the neighbor’s shed from the fence’s overly-amorous embrace was a good idea, given that … well, Whirl. With a crowbar. Just … yeah, no.

At least sixty percent of the yard was once again visible instead of a morass of downed branches and fallen leaves, half of the chips and salsa were gone, and Rodimus was on his third pudding pop when Megatron called down to him from the roof.

“Want a break from picking up sticks?”

Rodimus grinned stickily, demolished the last third of his pudding pop in one bite, and scrambled up the ladder.

The temperature on the roof was even higher than at ground level, thanks to the brutal lack of shade and the fact that they were standing on fresh tar paper with apparently the same optical properties as Vanta Black. Rodimus took a moment to enjoy the view – heights held no terror for him, never had – before turning back to Megatron.

“Tell me I get to use power tools.”

“You don’t get to use power tools.”

Rodimus whined. Megatron just shook his head.

“No power tools. We’re laying shingles, and apparently the only power tools Chromedome doesn’t have are a compressor and a nail gun.”

Oh. Okay, so at least he wasn’t being singled out for power tool deprivation.

It took a little while, but they eventually fell into an easy rhythm – Rodimus laying out the sheets, Megatron nailing them in place – and they worked their way back and forth across the roof toward the peak.

They were three rows from the peak when they ran out of shingles, and Rodimus shouted as much down to Chromedome, who had been reglazing one of the old double-hung windows that had been cracked by a flying branch.

Chromedome sighed. “I’ll ask Rewind to run to the store; I need more glazing points, too.”

“So what do we do until then?”

“Take a break?” Chromedome grinned up at him. “Unless you really want to pick up more sticks.”

“Fuck you,” said Rodimus amicably, and wandered back to Megatron’s side to plop down in a disorderly sprawl. “Guess it’s break time.”

“Guess so.” Megatron was, by now, considerably more unkempt than Rodimus had ever seen him. Dirt and shingle grit were streaked across his forearms, there was sawdust in his hair from the tree removal, and he was flushed and dripping with sweat.

Rodimus blinked, and then looked closer.

Freckles.

A sparse, gingery dusting of freckles had cropped up across the bridge of Megatron’s nose and the top of his cheekbones.

Holy crap, that was _adorable_. 

Rodimus completely failed to stifle his besotted giggling.

Megatron gave him the Inquisitorial Eyebrow. “What.”

“You have freckles.”

“No.”

Rodimus blinked. “What?”

Megatron turned his gaze to the distant horizon like a king surveying his territory. “I don’t have freckles.”

“You do!” Rodimus scooted even closer, just to make doubly sure. “Dude, you _totally_ have all these little freckles, it’s so _cute_ …!”

“Nonsense.” Megatron was still nobly surveying the horizon, but there was a tiny smile fighting to make its way through the stalwartly crusty façade. “You need your eyes examined. And even if I did have freckles, they certainly wouldn’t be _cute_.”

Rodimus by now had completely failed to hold it together, and was slumped giggling against Megatron’s arm, trying futilely to poke the tiny freckles on Megatron’s nose. “They are, though. They are so cute I can’t stand it, seriously …”

Megatron sighed indulgently and shook his head, then bellowed to Drift passing below. “Drift! Your lunatic friend here has heat stroke; throw us some water!”

Drift cheerfully tossed up two water bottles and an offhand comment of “not _my_ lunatic.” Rodimus caught all three but decided to let the third one go; the condensation-coated water bottles had suddenly made him realize how desperately thirsty he was, and bantering with Drift would take away valuable thirst-assuaging time.

Rodimus handed one bottle to Megatron, who took it gratefully, and opened the other to gulp eagerly before rolling the cold wet bottle across his face and the back of his neck. Honestly, pouring the whole damn thing over his head seemed like a fantastic idea, except that he also really wanted to drink it. Maybe he could just go down and stick his head in the cooler full of ice … that would probably feel _amazing_ right now …

As he waffled, movement from the corner of his eye caused Rodimus to turn; and then his mouth went dry for more reasons than simple dehydration, because Megatron was taking off his shirt, and Rodimus had never gotten to see him without his shirt before now, and _holy fuck that was an absolute crime because jumpin' Jesus Christ on a pogo stick_ …

Megatron was relatively fair-skinned, this Rodimus had known, though he was practically swarthy next to Roddy’s freckled pallor. But clearly he was seeing the effects of a day spent working in the sun, because now there was an obvious demarcation, from biceps to fingertips, between skin that had and had not been exposed, and Megatron was apparently one of those lucky bastards who just baked to an even golden-brown instead of burning like the first pancake on a hot griddle.

That wasn’t really what had Rodimus’s attention, however.

Megatron had tattoos.

As a general concept, it didn’t excite much astonishment; the man had been in prison, it would be more surprising if he _didn’t_ have tattoos; except that he definitely didn’t have any of the usual shitty stick-and-poke, done-with-ballpoint-ink, blown out and faded gang motifs. Nothing on his forearms, nothing on his hands – knuckles free of all four-letter sentiments – and nothing on his neck or shoulders that had been visible above a shirt collar.

What he did have, on the other hand, was a mirrored pair of Spencerian arabesques scrolling across his chest, spanning nearly the full width from breastbone to armpit and from clavicle to nipple.

They were good work, too – the lines sharp and clean and well defined, for all that they clearly dated to before his stint in jail; the blacks and dark greys were obviously high quality ink and had blued with time only slightly. The loops were perfectly even and symmetric; the calligraphic flourishes precise and well balanced.

Rodimus was actually momentarily distracted from his internal monologue of _homigod shirtless sweaty muscles muscles rrrowr_ by his appreciation of the linework.

Only momentarily, of course; he did have his priorities in order.

Rodimus was not actually alone in the staring, though it took him a good minute to tear his attention away sufficiently to notice that; but he was far from the only person in the party posse capable of appreciating a large, well-built, extremely shirtless man standing on a roof, drinking in a robust, manly way, while sweat trickled down his back and disappeared tantalizingly below the low-slung waistband of his jeans …

… actually, it looked like Chromedome and Rewind’s neighbors were similarly capable of appreciating the view, given that at least three of them had stopped their own cleanup efforts in order to ogle the prime aged beef on the roof.

Luckily, before Megatron became aware of the scrutiny, the Megatron’s Shirtlessness Appreciation Society’s first impromptu meeting was interrupted by the arrival of Rewind and a refill on shingles, glazing points, and ice. Rodimus took the opportunity to surreptitiously enjoy the sight of Megatron shouldering a bundle of shingles up the ladder, and then got back to work.

The sun beat down.

Down below, the rest of the party posse decided to join the Skins team, eventually leaving only Rodimus to suffer as the lone remaining Shirt.

Said shirt was completely soaked with sweat at this point, and _god_ the temptation to just pull it all off was damn near overwhelming.

Rodimus sat back on his heels, wiped his face – futilely – on his sleeve, and hollered at Rewind.

“Dude. Think the neighbors would mind if I freed the twins?”

Rewind groaned. “Roddy, no. I mean yes, they would mind; no, do not free the twins.”

Rodimus squirmed unhappily, awareness growing with every passing moment of the clammy misery of the binder. “What if I tape the nips? It’s not indecent exposure if I tape the nips, right?”

This time it was Drift’s turn to interject with a horrified shout of “ _Oh fuck, Roddy_ , do not tape your nips, you remember the duct tape incident, _please_ do not do that again. I am _begging_ you.”

“Yeah, but …” Rodimus got a good grip on the bottom edge of the binder and pulled it away from his skin as far as possible. The binder, being of fairly high quality and made of sturdy mesh, did not yield in a significant fashion. “That was educational, right? I mean, we learned that duct tape is _really_ strong! And also that nipples grow back!”

There was a perfectly synchronized groan of horror from every member of the party posse and several of Rewind’s neighbors.

“Rodimus,” said Cyclonus in his most authoritative voice, crushing Roddy’s faint hopes between the hammer of his disapproval and the anvil of the local blue laws. “No tape.”

Rodimus wilted.

Revival was abrupt, entirely unexpected, and quite literally breathtaking as half a liter of cold water was suddenly and unceremoniously dumped over his head.

It felt _wonderful_.

Roddy flicked water out of his eyes and turned to see Megatron standing over him, shaking the last few drops from his water bottle. The empty water bottle. The empty water bottle he had just dumped over Rodimus’s poor overheated head in an act of unapologetic and straightforward mercy.

Rodimus beamed at him. “I love you.”

Megatron smirked. “I know.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every good deed has its reward.

It was finally over.

Rodimus wallowed gloriously in his inflatable wading pool, immersed from chin to knees in cold water – Rewind had been kind enough to dump some of the half-melted ice from the coolers into the pool – and sprawled in giddy undignified relief as the heat and itch of a long sweaty day was sluiced from his skin.

The house had been repaired, the yard cleaned up, and the privacy fence finally persuaded to leave its passionate embrace of the neighbor’s shed; and now, as the sun began to set, Rewind was bringing out restocked coolers of beer and wine, and Chromedome was setting up his Studebaker-sized propane grill. Racks of ribs had been marinating all day. A cool breeze began to kick up, carrying with it the tang of vinegar and brown sugar.

From the sweet embrace of his aquatic reward, Rodimus began to drool.

Megatron ambled over, a bottle of Troegs Sunshine Pils dangling from one hand and a chocolate pudding pop in the other, and folded himself neatly to the grass beside Rodimus’s pool.

“Feeling better?” He offered the pudding pop to Rodimus, who nabbed it eagerly and jammed it into his mouth with an ecstatic moan. Megatron snorted a laugh. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ …”

Over at the house, Rewind flipped a switch by the garage door and fairy lights sprang to life among the remaining trees encircling the yard. A brief gout of flame and a yelp from Chromedome, followed by smacking noises, indicated that Whirl had gotten close enough to interact with the grill in some terrifying fashion before being chased off by Cyclonus, as usual.

Rodimus squirmed into a more comfortable position in his wading pool and sighed luxuriously. He caught Megatron watching him and grinned and then did lewdly suggestive things with the pudding pop, succeeding in making Megatron choke on his beer.

“Are you planning on coming out of there at any point?” Megatron asked, once he had stopped coughing. The aggravation of liquid in the wrong places made his voice even deeper and raspier than usual, and Rodimus suppressed a little shiver of raw interest at the sound of it.

“Nope.”

“Not even for dinner?”

“I was thinking you could help me with that.” Rodimus winked at him, and slurped profanely on the pudding pop.

Megatron sadly did not choke this time, just sighed tolerantly and patted Roddy’s leg where it was draped over the edge of the inflatable pool. “I suppose I could take pity on your tragic infirmity …”

Rodimus splashed him a little to see what would happen. Megatron growled and made interesting threats, which merely provoked Rodimus’s curiosity enough to turn it into an all-out splash fight that ended with Megatron trying to dodge away and Whirl tripping him to land squarely in the pool – luckily Rodimus had just vacated it, because the idea of being pinned by Megatron was all kinds of inspiring but was also something that needed to be done in a controlled fashion to avoid injury, because _damn_ he was a big dude.

While Megatron chased Whirl around the yard for a few laps, Rodimus fetched him a new beer and Rewind fetched towels and a pair of Chromedome’s swim trunks; and then Rodimus took up the baton and chased Whirl around the yard while Megatron slunk into the house to change.

The sun had nearly set by now, and the breeze had freshened. The trees were black against the cloud-streaked sky and their leaves rustled and danced, making the strings of lights twinkle like unusually sedentary fireflies. Chromedome was hauling slabs of ribs off the grill and onto serving platters, the smell of barbeque sauce and cooked pork a veritable siren’s call to the hungry posse, and Rewind popped open a bottle of champagne to toast a good day’s work, and then there was the silence of hungry people digging in to a well-deserved dinner.

Rodimus, wrapped in his post-pool towel, made his way over to the hammock strung between two of the light-festooned trees and sank into it with a happy sigh. He was tired; he was sunburned and his hands were blistered and he could feel a thousand tiny aches creeping up, the aftermath of a day of unfamiliar labor, and knew he’d be sore tomorrow, but right now he had the glow of satisfaction and pride – and some damn good champagne – to buoy him up.

Megatron found him there, curled up and half dozing; Rodimus was disappointed to see that Megatron had retrieved his jeans and t-shirt from the dryer and was no longer bare-chested in hilarious flamingo-print swim trunks. On the other hand, he was big and solid and wonderfully warm as he carefully infiltrated the hammock and drew Rodimus to rest against him, and Rodimus came willingly and snuggled against his shoulder with a happy little hum.

Rewind came over, dodging the alarmingly cut-throat game of croquet that had sprung up, and handed them chocolate chip cookies, still warm from the oven. “Thanks for the help today.” His smile was bright and genuinely friendly and – much to Megatron’s astonishment – directed at both of them. 

“My pleasure,” said Megatron, a little slowly, a little wonderingly, and accepted the cookie from Rewind’s outstretched hand. Rewind smiled again, patted Rodimus indulgently, and went over to try to distribute cookies among the croquet match, at least part of which appeared to be degenerating into an armed brawl.

Megatron looked up through the trees and the tiny warm lights glowing among the leaves. A handful of stars were visible through the scrim of branches and streaky clouds, and bats flitted overhead as little whirring scraps of darkness. There was a warm willing body pliant in his arms, and people who he might possibly be able to count as friends were laughing nearby – people who had opened their home and accepted his help and shared their food with him …

This was a life he had only barely glimpsed a long time ago, in his youth, and then only from the edges; only on the condition that he fit himself into the tightly-drawn little box allotted to him. This was a life he had never even dared to dream of from the streets, from those breathless days of brutality and rage; couldn’t even imagine from behind the walls of the prison he’d known for so long, buried in solitude and grief and guilt, building his own walls with books and the threat of violence always present in his own frame.

He’d never thought he could have this.

Megatron bowed his head and pressed a firm, chaste kiss to the bright blaze of Rodimus’s hair, and Rodimus stirred, rubbing his cheek against Megatron’s chest before leaning up to bring their mouths together, soft and sweet.

“Thank you,” said Megatron quietly, his voice little more than a low rumble.

Rodimus looked up at him, blue blue eyes so bright and knowing, and smiled. “You’re welcome.”

**Author's Note:**

> There are chunks of dialogue taken directly from chatting with @crabpunch about this idea -- basically, all the really funny, clever stuff is theirs :)


End file.
